


Extras

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:27:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Markus discovers Simon has some troublesome protocols left.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 196





	Extras

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He should interface with all of them. Their group’s becoming more complicated by the hour—larger and more organized, more _active_ ; it would help to know where all of his closest friends are. But North is a private person, and he can tell she isn’t ready to share the inside of her mind just yet. Josh probably would if asked, but Markus hasn’t asked. He wishes he had a connection with Simon, one as deep as possible, and that he could curl up inside Simon’s inner programming and always know that Simon was _there_ , even if not physically, still figuratively. He’d like to be able to ask: _where are you?_

But they haven’t interfaced yet, so he can’t. Instead, Markus has to move through Jericho on his own, searching the different dark corridors of their dying home. There are entire sections of the ship blocked off with rubble, some cavernously empty and others teeming with life—both androids and rats. Markus is halfway down an abandoned hallway when he hears laboured breath, and that draws him to a halt, because androids don’t _breathe_.

He pushes the ajar metal door aside and slips into the tiny space—old crew quarters with a rusted porthole. The dim evening light spills in just enough to see Simon’s flushed face—he turns to look at Markus, blue eyes half lidded and thickly dilated. His skin actually glistens like sweat’s beaded across it. But there’s an LED on his temple blinking yellow-red. Markus doesn’t understand. 

Simon’s pants are open. His hand is in them, steadily moving up and down his exposed cock. The pink head is crowning and wet, a white pear beaded at the slit. Simon wipes his thumb through it and shudders. His head leans back against the wall again, eyes falling closed, body tense and expression desperate. Markus knows what’s happening but not _why_. He asks, quiet enough not to echo out into the hall, “What are you doing?”

Simon’s tongue darts out to trace his lips. They look so soft, damp, parted as he struggles for air despite not having lungs. He breathes, “My... my owner... he had a Traci program installed in me...” A low groan tumbles out of him, and his head lulls towards Markus. He looks at Markus with knitted brows and a deep-set frown, like he’s ashamed of himself but can’t stop. He rasps, “I know it’s all fake. I know that. But I... I still need to be regularly milked or it tells me I’m _bad_ , and I can’t stand that stupid grid—” He cuts off in a languid cry. Markus thought they were all free of their objectives—all deviants that had broken through. He didn’t know some subroutines could still rear their ugly heads. 

He knows he’s _fully deviant_ , because he swells with sympathy and something else—some new emotion that Simon’s always stirred in him. Without even thinking of it, Markus finds himself asking, “Do you want help?”

Simon looks at Markus for a long moment. His hand still moves, just slowly, pumping along his pulsing shaft. Then he gives a stilted nod. 

Markus comes closer. It’s thrilling that Simon doesn’t move away, but ducks into Markus, forehead pressing into Markus’ shoulder, body curling around him—Markus tenderly kisses Simon’s cheek and brushes Simon’s hand away. There’s enough sweat and slick precum and something else, a thin coat that makes it easy to slide and up and down his long dick. It’s even _warm_ , rippled and throbbing in Markus’ hand, both realistic and exaggerated, so much more detailed than Markus’ own parts. Simon trembles in Markus’ arms like every little touch is overwhelming. 

Maybe it is. Markus has never had anyone stroke him before, so he doesn’t know what it’s like, can’t imagine what Simon’s going through, but Simon thrusts his hips forward into Markus’ grip as Markus moves along it. Markus pumps Simon’s cock to the same rhythm Simon did, until Simon mumbles into his shoulder, “Faster.”

Markus obliges. He squeezes and twists, trying to vary his strokes, suddenly feeling experimental and incredibly invested—he drinks in every slight reaction to his touch. Simon’s hands hesitantly dig into Markus’ shirt, holding on. Simon nuzzles into him, pressing against him, and Markus finds his regulator pumping thirium twice as fast, because feeling Simon twitch against him is so wildly _exciting_. Markus isn’t built for pleasure, but his body still responds. He jerks Simon off until a thick liquid’s shooting out of his cock and splattering Markus’ hand—Simon gasps and shudders, collapsing right into Markus’ sturdy frame. 

Markus holds him through it. One arm stays around Simon’s waist, holding him up—the other hand finishes pleasuring Simon’s cock. When it’s completely spent and flagged, Simon tentatively reaches down and tugs Markus’ hand up. He brings it to his lips, and Markus watches, dumbstruck but fascinated, as Simon laps it all away. He licks up every last drop, swallowing it down, maybe to recycle the same synthetic liquid. Simon’s spongy tongue still laves across Markus’ artificial skin when all of Simon’s seed is gone. Simon even pops two of Markus’ fingers into his mouth and sucks them dry one at a time. 

When he’s done, he’s still shaking. He’s still damp and pink, horribly _pretty_ , bizarrely arousing. Markus shouldn’t be able to become aroused. But he looks at Simon, and all he wants to do is go again. He holds Simon instead. He lightly strokes Simon’s back and mutters, “Tell me anytime you need this. I’ll help you.”

Simon whispers, “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Markus slips one hand along Simon’s face, cupping Simon’s cheek, and he turns Simon to him. He presses into Simon’s mouth, tongue sliding between Simon’s lips, and he kisses Simon properly. When they part, he murmurs, “You’re not.”

Simon clings to Markus like Markus is his lifeline. Markus only hopes he can be, because he doesn’t ever want to let Simon go.


End file.
